chuck have mercy on my soul

buzz | 3.0 (m) ✓

Originally posted by jeonbase

• pairing: min yoongi x reader
• genre/warnings: smut, 69 (lord have mercy on my soul, I have never written this and it’s been years since I did it irl, so, yolo), face riding, girl on top, dirty talk, multiple orgasms, non-penetrative sex toy (the vibrator’s back, bitches), and some fluff chucked in for good measure
• words: 6,529
→ summary: you’ve been dating your best friend-turned-boyfriend for a few months now. What happens when he can’t nap because of a — as he so lovingly put it, raging boner…?

» 1.0 | 2.0 | 3.0  ✓

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Black Tie Event

[Word count: 941]

omg i have requests to complete and ugh but nah im a piece of shit sorry 

but here have some drabble - reader in a fancy-shmancy sexy dress 

Dean x Reader


“Red or blue?” You ask Dean, lifting up fistfuls of fabric in said colors as you await his response. He glances up at you, studying the fabrics for a second, before raising his shoulders in a half-assed shrug and looking away again.

A sigh of disbelief escapes you, and you roll your eyes before stepping forward to push him off the bed and out of the bedroom. He opens his mouth to complain, eyes wide as he tries to dodge your insistent shoves, but cooperates nonetheless, leaving the room and letting out his own sigh as the door slams in his face.

Tonight the pair of you were working a case, which just so happened to be at an upstanding manor house which, coincidentally, was holding a black-tie event - admittedly, it made entrance a hell of a lot easier, although hunting is now ten times harder, especially when you’re expected to wear an evening dress.

Glancing down at the two dresses in your hands, you debate which one to go for; the royal blue chiffon gown with a sweetheart neckline and diamante detailing, or the elegant burgundy one with a low-cut back and thigh-high split at the side. After momentarily chewing on your lip, you opt for the latter; the split would make accessing a hidden weapon easier, and you’ve always thought that red suits you, even if it is the most eye-catching color.

Stripping off your casual jeans and Dean’s old Motörhead shirt, you throw on your lace suspender belt before slipping on the dress, opting to take off your bra too considering the low cut (you’re just thankful that the dress has a built in bra). You make quick work of pulling on stockings, which are held up by your suspender belt, and clip on your thigh holster, adjusting the fabric until it was barely noticeable. 

You make quick work of your hair, opting to leave your hair down, only pinning back the sides to stay out of your face. Opening your makeup bag, you grimace at the obvious lack of supplies, but get to work on making yourself look presentable for such an event - you settle on a simple natural smokey eye and a flick of eyeliner, paired with a deep red lipstick that you had miraculously found floating about at the bottom of your bag. 

Shrugging at yourself in the small mirror, you put in a pair of simple silver earrings and put on the delicate silver chain that Dean had bought you for your last birthday before deeming yourself ready.

Slipping your feet into the only pair of heels you have - a simple pair of black kitten heels that are only worn when posing as an FBI agent - you grab your black clutch purse and double check you have the basics (holy water, your red lipstick, and your tiny Colt .22, which was the only gun that would fit in the bag), before opening the door and heading off in search of Dean.

You’re quick to find him sat in the library, a small glass of whiskey in one hand as he slouches in a chair, mumbling a conversation with Sam. Sam is facing the door and so sees you first, and when he does, he nearly chokes on his beer, eyes widening. It only takes Dean a moment, and when he turns around, his reaction is just as amusing.

He pushes himself out of his seat and stumbles to his feet, hastily putting his glass on the table so that half of it’s contents sloshes out onto the polished wood surface. His mouth falls open as he splutters, eyes wide in awe as he tries to find the words to say.

“Well?” You finally decide to break the silence, performing a quick half-assed twirl before stopping and raising an expectant brow. “Don’t just stand there and stare, we have a case to work.”

He blinks, once, twice, before nodding uselessly, walking up to you at an amusingly fast pace. You take note of the erection he’s trying not very hard to hide, and bite back a smirk, instead taking the moment to take in his own attire - a simple black tuxedo and pressed white shirt, the bow-tie slightly twisted.

He comes to a halt in front of you, and you reach up to adjust the bow-tie, the action causing him to gulp audibly, and you let out a quiet giggle. “Not bad, Mr. Winchester.”

Your comment spurs him to give a compliment of his own, though it’s not all to eloquent. “You look, I mean, you, you, I-shit. You look fucking breathtaking, baby.” He breathes out, pupils blown as he stares down at you.

“Thanks.” You murmur, leaning up on tip-toes to press a soft kiss to his cheek before pulling away and patting him on the chest. You adjust his suit, straightening the lapels before linking his arm with your own and turning to head for the garage. 

You miss the wide-eyed look he throws over his shoulder at Sam, and expression that screams ‘how am I supposed to survive this night?’, to which Sam responds with a devious smirk and both thumbs up. Biting his lip, Dean glances down at you, gulping for the second time tonight as he catches sight of the low back of the dress.

He gulps for the third time when he sees your leg peak out from the side-split, eyes widening at the glimpse he catches of your thigh holster. Please, Chuck, have mercy on my soul... He thinks to himself desperately. He can only dream about how tonight is going to end…